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Stories about escaping fundamentalism and recovery by trial and error

logic

My new husband goes to a nice little community church. He would never pressure me to go along, but I could tell he wanted to introduce me to his friends there. How bad could it be? Hubby isn’t religious, so the church can’t be too dogmatic. He goes to remember his mother and to see people he cares about. I hadn’t stepped foot in a church service in decades, but I’m not scared of them. I strive to be open-minded, not judge-y or hard-nosed. That’s what I never liked about churches in the first place.

I can handle it. Right? Oy.

To be fair, this church is friendly. I was welcomed warmly. People of all stripes are welcomed here, which is as it should be. I can clearly see the value of gathering together to show gratitude, to participate in peaceful rituals and to sing, combined with a sense of working for the greater good. Members get together to hike and knit and eat. These activities bring a wonderful sense of belonging and contribute to the community at large in valuable ways. Loveliness.

What surprised me was the familiarity of the messages printed on the service sheet. Crucifixion, condemnation of the “wicked,” rapture, virgin birth, creationism, a lesson on finding a capable wife to run your household-wait wtf really?, believers shall prosper but others will not. Us and them, body and blood, sacrifice, sanctification, holy spirit, almighty father, Jesus Christ, lord god holy, holy, holy. What was I expecting? Church is still church.

My skin crawled as the congregation chanted prayers in unison. My head pounded as I tried to reconcile the words on the page with the truly lovely people surrounding me. Do they hear the underlying messages of the words they are speaking? How can they say words out loud without thinking about their meaning? Or do they believe?

I couldn’t do it. I fled.

Out the back and down the steps, I found the bathroom and then followed my nose to a full, unguarded coffee pot. I took (stole) a cup and a handful of creamers. As I gently pushed the church door open and eased it shut behind me, I was met with a face-full of sunshine and fresh morning breeze. First fall leaves skittered down the quiet street as I settled onto a rickety wooden bench tucked in the weeds of an overgrown patio. Steamy sweet coffee warmth filled my nose. Why can’t this be church?

Tension left my body. I will never escape my literal mind. The hellfire trauma of my childhood is best left undisturbed. My very much smarter than me husband goes to church because he has always gone, takes what he needs and leaves the rest. I admire his ability to do so, but I cannot join him there.

After church we got tacos and took the dog for a hike in the woods where we saw some amazing wild mushrooms and a turtle. All is well with my soul.

Well, this is weird. It seems I have created a blog for my own personal use that I now handle with care. In the beginning, this was a place to write my stories and get out my rants; my assumption was no one would ever read them, so I did not bother to filter. I was wrong, so now I get nervous. A profanity-laced version of this post was published on a secret site, so as not to offend, like the chickenshit that I am.

Some readers here, perhaps most, are showing up for the gossip factor. Even Christians skip to the sex scenes. Some understand the oppression of growing up fundie and appreciate the “me, too” feeling. Some are closeted unbelievers and are struggling with the reality that in order to be their own true fully actualized selves they have to come out to their families. This is terrifying, because, as all of us who have been through it know, you risk losing everything: your family, your community and social life, your identity. Your people will likely turn on you in a multitude of ways (disappointment, anger, fear for your soul, pray for, pity or condemn you) for your self-discovery. Rarely are they accepting or curious about your evolution. Rarely are there no emotional repercussions. All of us who have walked away know this. We have all experienced it in one form or another, the condescension and rejection. There is a network of ex-Christians who have escaped fundamentalism and survived or are trying to escape and hoping to survive. Some keep their non-beliefs secret from their families to avoid dealing with the drama. Many suffer from the aftermath of cognitive dissonance, PTSD and suicidal thoughts; leftover irrational fears that won’t quiet. The beleaguered mental health community is not up to speed on the effects of fundamentalism. My voice is one of many. I thought I could walk away and pretend none of it ever happened, but that’s not how life works. Here I am, decades later, finally speaking up. I can’t say it isn’t still frightening, the risk of offending.

A recent Facebook post pushed me over the edge, as will happen. A sad, sick woman with a debilitating disease wrote to an evangelical TV show asking why her prayers for healing had not been answered. The response was a clip of Pat Robertson blaming demons or some such bullshit. (Nut Job Here) It really flipped my switch, not just because Pat Robertson is a douchebag, but because there was a sick, vulnerable, desperate person in need of help and comfort who was emotionally manipulated in a deeply sadistic way. Not only was she dealing with the reality of her illness, she was also wounded, confused and fearful that the god she loved and depended on was ignoring her pleas. It was a double whammy of pain.

Here’s the thing, I’ve got nothing against prayer. As a matter of fact, sometimes that’s all you can do. When a worry is too big to bear, you have to let it go or be consumed. When life takes a turn, thoughtful folks say “I’m praying for you” or “thoughts and prayers” and post sweet emojis, they are saying they care and hope things get better. It’s nice. This isn’t about that. What follows is a request directed to those who are strident believers in faith healing; an appeal for consideration. Please hear me out.

When a person with an incurable disease is told their condition can be whisked away by a prayer, it disregards their daily reality. Every day contains struggles unknown to the rest of us, both physical and emotional.

To profess to have access to a magical cure insults the sick in a way that faith healing believers do not seem to understand. The underlying emotion might be love for the afflicted and a desire for their wellness, but disregarding the daily reality of living with illness, the limitations of medical science and the personal beliefs of others comes across as an ego-driven, manipulative power trip. Such disregard is rude at best, but also cruel and misinformed and can be emotionally damaging to those not good at critical thinking.

This might seem to be an overreaction to anyone who hasn’t been steamrolled by religiosity, but I have a sick kid who experiences this. She, being a better person than me and not having experienced the steamroller, rolls her eyes and takes the good intentions. Or yells a little bit and lets it go. Not me.

I see, at least a little bit, what she goes through; her fears and symptoms and side effects and endless appointments and medications. The disappointment and discouragement when yet another treatment fails. I see her absolute determination to stay as healthy and fit and positive as she possibly can despite her fatigue. I see her siblings’ worry and fear and unwavering, astounding love. If there is such a thing as a holy spirit, it lives in their support of each other. I know what I go through, not just because I am heartbroken for her and would take the disease myself if it would save her from it, but working multiple jobs to pay the bills, staying in a job I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to for the medical benefits and watching my daughter ask strangers on the internet for money because I have no way of paying the deductible, despite the long hours. I also see the resources and attention that go to this one kid, when I have others who need me, as well. The endless fatigue and stress on us all. If there was a god that could prevent this or take it away, and it doesn’t automatically do so, then it is evil.

I do not believe there is a being with the power to allow or disallow sickness; to cure or not cure based on variable criteria. I understand that others do.

My problem lies with the manipulation of false hope. On the receiving end, it seems arrogant and selfish to tell a sick person that if they say the right words, they MIGHT be healed. It feels like a head trip, a game. Also ignorant. If there were a kind and loving god with these capabilities, there would be no sickness. The fact of sickness remains; therefore god is either not loving or kind, perhaps does not have those powers or simply does not exist. I assume believers have another explanation, but nothing else makes sense to me.

I prefer to rest my hopes in science; like that crazy kid from up the street who grew up to be a medical research scientist, spending his days conducting meticulous experiments in order to find another treatment or even a cure. Do I believe my daughter’s life is worth more than those of the countless rodents under his knife? Yes. Yes, I do. The mice might disagree.

When my daughter was diagnosed, an acquaintance remarked that perhaps god allowed it to happen in order to get my attention. I felt it was a remarkably unkind thing to say. Were it true, then a nasty manipulation from a petty creature with too much power. Since I don’t believe it to be true, I’ll go with the former, which brings me to my point. Fervid beliefs allow outrageously offensive things to be said under the guise of caring. If I had indisputable proof that a god had made my daughter sick in order to turn me into a follower, then I would kill that creature, if possible. It most certainly would not be the recipient of my devotion but of the wrath of Mama Bear, complete with skin-ripping claws, saliva dripped fangs and a bladder evacuating roar.

My quest here is to ask those of you who read this blog and are believers in faith healing to consider another perspective. Consider that your beliefs are not factual. You are absolutely entitled to them. No one can stop you from sharing them, either, but please consider how it feels to be on the receiving end. The idea that a person or their family member is somehow responsible for, or can effect their illness, either by disbelief or lack of proper prayer or by any other measure, is indefensible. In response to a much more vitriolic version of this post, I heard stories from others: someone who, when their own healing didn’t come, was told they were not right with God (they’re still sick because they’re SICK, goddammit); an elderly parent on their death bed was told to pray for healing (they died clinging to misplaced hope instead of spending their final moments in peace); another was told chronic illness plagued them because they had changed their address and cut loose toxic friends. Another, when offered prayer for sickness, requested family members donate to stem cell research, instead and got blank looks all around. For a person struggling with incurable illness and pain or facing death to be told they need to fix it themselves is cruel. Those words coming from a loved one twist the knife.

I realize there is likely nothing I can say, no matter how careful or loving or angry or direct or clear, to throw a faith-healing believer off the scent or knock them off their high horse. Zealotry does that to people, however, if you are interested in not alienating loved ones who do not share your beliefs, please consider the following suggestions:

Recognize the difference between FACT and BELIEF. Words have meanings and these things are not the same. Fact is truth. Facts are true whether you believe them or not. Beliefs are yours, they belong to you. Facts belong to us all. We all have “personal truths,” based on our desires, perspectives, and experiences. These are something less than factual and should be wielded with great care and understanding that what is true for you may not be true for others.

Like this:

Yesterday while driving around town I spotted a sign outside a business that said, “There is no hope in logic.”

This sentence jumped into my brain and ran around in circles. What the heck does that even mean? I wondered. In the interest of full disclosure, this business’ sign often has clearly christian perspective. But this I pondered.

The belief that there is no hope in logic is a perspective I find remarkably sad and, let me just say it, wrong. Logic gives us a path to follow, clear actions to take. Logic gives us power and direction. When we can see connections between our own actions and their effects or, on a larger scale, between public policies and statistics, then we can make positive changes. Changes can be made immediately and with intent, no waiting. The ability to make changes gives us every reason to hope for a better future whether we are talking about our own life or the future of our country or our planet. Reliance on hope, also known as wishing, gives us an excuse to sit back and let things happen.

Life can be overwhelming at times, with stresses and worries that are difficult to shoulder. Sometimes there is no fix. It is necessary to take the time to listen to the still, small voice, to let go of the things that are out of our control. It is also necessary to get up again, put one foot in front of the other, do the work before us according to the logic of our abilities and priorities. It is possible that is where true hope lies, in our own efforts to make things better and in knowing we have worked hard and done all we can do. Then sit back, have a beer and hope for the best.